


Out Loud

by OctoberSnow



Category: Hitman (Video Games), Hitman: Absolution, Mafia (Video Games), Mafia 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Crossover Pairings, Dirty Talk, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Language Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Vito's got a filthy mouth, and 47 likes it, non-canon chapter of another story i'm writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSnow/pseuds/OctoberSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vito decides to celebrate the first year anniversary of his and 47's partnership in a Florence hotel. A night full of questions and answers that they didn't know they needed. Non-'canon' chapter based off another story I'm writing</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read this first!  
> To lessen any confusion you have about this pairing, this is loosely based off another Mafia 2/Hitman crossover fic I wrote titled 'Shades of Gray' which you can find on FF.Net. Vito and 47 are both ICA agents and partners in this story, but it's more or less a PWP so no worries if you don't care to read the SOG crossover fic. Also this is set in modern day.

“Ciao.”

Vito grins at the older agent as he stands with a bottle of wine gripped in each hand. “Guess who decided to make a trip to the local winery.” He holds up the bottles as if to reinstate the already obvious answer, his shoulders making a small shrug like an invitation.

47’s eyes flick to one of the bottles with little interest before focusing back on his partner. His voice its usual flat baritone as he dryly states, “Good for you.” The formerly Made Man thins his mouth, the crease in his brow suggesting that was the answer he more or less expected.

“Well, I was thinking that since our hits were a success, and, well, today marks the first year anniversary of our partnership, I thought we’d celebrate a little. To being alive.”

A second passes. Then another. Then 47 turns and starts walking back into his room, leaving the door open. Which is his usual way of saying ‘Fine, whatever.’ Vito follows the older man inside before he can change his mind, kicking the door closed behind him as 47 goes to get glasses; the agent’s steps are always unsettlingly quiet even on marble floor, not like he ever notices or cares, since he likely learned how to do that as a kid.

Vito wonders if he’ll ever be able to do everything as silently as 47 does.

He clicks the two bottles onto an end table, checking the labels as if still unsure. He’s nearly positive that the agent’s favorite sort of wine was pinot noir, as dry as his humor, which is to say as dry as they fucking come. Just in case though, he got another bottle of Bordeaux, because if that’s not 47’s favorite, then it’s at least _his_.

The bottles aren’t cheap either. The winery he visited is known for its high quality, its price as remarkable as its wine’s taste. Vito drinks like he has the money, which he definitely does now thanks to the blood on his hands.

“Pinot or Bordeaux?” He asks the agent as he comes up with the glasses.

“Pinot,” 47 replies without skipping a beat. Bingo.

Vito grins on the inside as he pulls the cork out with a wet pop and fills each glass near to the brim with deep red firewater. The older agent settles in the couch across from Vito, and the Sicilian can feel steel blue eyes focus on the back of his neck before slowly moving down.

Heat gathers in Vito’s stomach and climbs its way up his ribcage to his face. He takes a deep breath, pretending to see if each glass has the same amount, letting 47’s gaze roam down his figure and trail tiny shivers in its wake.

He can’t remember when he was first able to tell whether or not his partner was watching him. It isn’t so much a thought as it is a feeling, a primal buzz under his skin that only 47’s eyes seem to provoke. At first he felt uneasy by it, but then quickly grew addicted to the heat kindling in his belly whenever the older man observed him.

Perhaps it was because he sought his approval. Perhaps it was because of something else.

This time it was both.

“Heard you were heading back to the states tomorrow,” Vito starts casually, turning to place 47’s glass onto the coffee table between them. He settles in the seat across from his partner, sloshing his own wine delicately in the glass and pretending to take interest in it.

“I will be,” 47 replies succinctly, making no move to reach for his own glass. His eyes stay focused on Vito’s, not in a particularly threatening way, but certainly not safe. Vito swallows just the tiniest bit, drumming the fingers of his free hand on his knee, watching the agent’s eyes flick down to the movement before focusing back on Vito’s face – which thankfully doesn’t feel hot anymore.

“Got another mission or are you taking a break?” He isn’t going to let the older agent’s reticence keep him from finding a few things out. If anything, their conversations progressed immensely from when they first met, concerning 47, at least.

“There’s a contract I’ve been assigned to in West Virginia. A wedding that, if carried out successfully, won’t end with the groom alive.” This time 47 brings his gaze down to the glass sitting in front of him, the wine already still with patience.

“Ah.” It sounds a lot like a different mission 47 had done years before the two had met. He wonders if he will live long enough to watch his own missions get recycled.

He brings the glass to his lips and drinks, feeling the liquid fire trail down his throat.

“And you?”

47’s voice breaking the small bit of silence between them catches Vito off guard, but he doesn’t let it show as he cradles his wine glass and focuses on the marble floor’s veins. “Not thinking about picking up another assignment right after this one. Probably just going back to my place and brushing up on my French. Heard Monaco’s beautiful this time of year.”

“It always is.”

“Beautiful?” Vito lets the question slip out before he can stop it, tearing his eyes from the floor and back to 47’s hard blue gaze. 47 replies with a single nod of his head and Vito feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” He says softly, not sure if to himself or to the other agent, “I’m sure it is.”

He chews on his lower lip, glancing down at his wine. The silence between them isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Vito’s softening voice makes it feel like there’s something else in the room. Something that always seems to come up whenever they talk for longer than a few minutes.

It creeps along the back of Vito’s spine and nags at his brain. Slowly digs its way inside until it reaches the darkest parts of his mind, crawls around and patiently drags things out and dusts them off, things that should never be seen in anywhere else but his dreams.

“Can I ask you something?”

Vito shifts in his seat after asking this; 47’s silence is taken as affirmation to continue.

“You never really talk about your past. You know, before you started doing all this hit work.”

47’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, but Vito already knows that he’s willing to talk, at least a little bit. Being around him for a year gave Vito decent insight into 47’s actions.

“I don’t have much of a past to talk about, honestly,” the older man states, staring at the wall behind Vito.

“Where were you born? Do you know who your parents were?” This was something Vito had been curious about for a while, and now seemed like a better time than any for questions and answers. 47’s jaw shifts slightly as he concentrates on the creamy wall color, like he’s trying to dig up an old memory.

“I was born in Romania, sometime in 1964. I had five men provide biological samples to create me and one woman who served as my incubator of sorts.”

The cold statement makes Vito’s hand grip the neck of his glass a little harder. 47 considers his mother as being no more a mother than the men who created him as fathers. The creation of him wasn’t out of love but scientific necessity. Did he ever know the warmth of his mother, or was he separated from her the second the cord was cut?

47 likely wouldn’t know the answer to that, and likely wouldn’t care to give it if he did.

“Did you have any, uh… siblings?” His throat feels dry, so Vito decides to wet it with another swig.

“If by ‘siblings’ you mean clones, then yes. Nearly a hundred of them.”

Vito almost chokes when he hears this. “Almost a hundred?! Holy hell.” Then he stops himself before he can make any more stupid exclamations. 47 doesn’t seem annoyed by his reaction, but mildly curious, his eyes softening just a whisper.

“Yes. Some were older than others, but we all carried the same genes of the men who partook in our creation. We were all made for the same purpose.”

“Oh.” Vito is stunned into a monosyllabic answer. A hundred of 47 was difficult to imagine, since the world couldn’t seem to handle just one. He knew _he_ could barely comprehend 47’s existence, and he considered the older man a friend of sorts.

“Wait? ‘Were’? Why’re you talking in past tense?” Vito’s gaze searches 47’s features as he asks this.

47’s eyes cut right through him.

“Because they’re all dead now.”

Vito isn’t sure how 47 expects him to take that answer. His gaze remains calm and fixed on Vito’s own stunned face, and Vito has to mentally hit himself to regain his composure. He’s afraid to ask the next question, because he already knows the answer.

“And they’re dead because of…”

“Yes.”

Vito nods a bit, inhales sharply before downing the rest of his drink. He knows he’ll need a couple more to handle the rest of 47’s story.

The older agent seems to know this too, and silently slides his previously untouched pinot noir across the narrow coffee table towards Vito. Vito waits a beat before picking it up.

“Were they all males?” The former mobster asks as he cradles the glass carefully, like a newborn.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Vito tries to picture a female 47, but all he can imagine is 47 with lipstick and tits. He resists the urge to giggle like a moron, then takes a swig of the wine.

“That makes sense, I guess. If the woman who carried you isn’t related to you in any way, then you’d only have y chromosomes in your pool to match up with the x chromosomes.”

47 leans forward a bit, and Vito’s gaze roams from one broad shoulder to the other, hunched toward him now. He wonders if 47 has any new marks under those clothes.

“Now you’re catching on.” 47’s reply is a soft rumble, traveling through the marble floor and straight up Vito’s legs, pooling in his lower stomach.

He licks his lips and tastes the wine like a bitter kiss.

“What’s your barcode? What’s it mean?” Vito’s not sure if he’s asked that before, but doesn’t care. He leans forward and imitates the other agent’s pose, curiosity lining his voice.

47 furrows his brows before answering. “It’s my birthday. The series of clones I was created in. The version I am. I…can’t remember the numbers.”

Vito remembers. He remembers every single digit on the back of 47’s head. “You said you were born in 1964. Your birthday is September the fifth then. Right?” He raises his eyebrows as if asking the question rather than confirming it. He wants to give 47 that luxury.

47 is staring past Vito’s eyes as if trying to search his thoughts. “Yes. It is.”

The older agent seems uncomfortable with revealing any more about himself, and Vito understands that perfectly well. This is the most he’s ever gotten out of his partner, and he’s satisfied with it. For now.

It’s 47’s turn to ask questions.

“Your parents.”

Vito takes a swig before answering. “Both gone. My mom died of tuberculosis when I was in jail, my dad, well...story was he was drunk one night after work, fell off the dock and drowned. I was five when that happened.”

47 laces his fingers together. “But that’s not what really happened.”

Vito snorts and glares out the window. “ ‘Course it ain’t. Some fat bastard he owed money to had his lackeys drown him. Needless to say that man’s not walking this earth anymore.” Thinking about bits and pieces of his past brings bile to his throat.

“You said you had a sister.” 47’s voice reaches him and snatches him out of his agitation.

Another swig. “I do.” Thinking about Francesca makes his chest hurt.

“Do you miss her?”

“Every day.” Vito’s glass is nearly empty. The wine’s loosening his tongue more than he thought it would.

Vito swallows the bile down and flicks his gaze towards the ceiling. “But I don’t know where she is. If she’s even still alive.”

It hurts to think about that. Frankie is the only piece of family he has left.

“I fucked it all up when I told her I’d kill her piece-of-shit husband if he ever lay another hand on her. I meant it.”

He has flashbacks to his fingers tracing the bruise on his sister’s cheek. To the house he found his brother-in-law at, making out with some floozy sitting on the kitchen counter. Remembers grabbing the first bottle he saw and smashing it over the back of his brother’s head. His teeth clenched so hard he thought he’d break his jaw, but he chose to break his brother’s jaw instead.

Frankie’s voice over the phone, frail with fear, telling him to stay away from her and her husband. The last time he ever heard from her.

Vito doesn’t realize his eyes are closed, and that his glass is empty and dangling loosely from his fingers. Something warm folds over them, taking the glass gently from his grip. He looks up and stares into cold blue eyes, observing him quietly.

47 had moved without Vito hearing him, but his thoughts were so loud that he isn’t surprised at that.

Without saying anything, 47 moves out of Vito’s sight and into the suite’s kitchen. Vito leans forwards and presses his forehead into the palms of his hands.

Some anniversary this was turning out to be.

He feels 47’s presence in the room, looks up and sees a glass of water being offered to him. He swallows at how close 47’s fingers are to his lips.

Without looking up at his partner, Vito takes the glass and holds it self-consciously. He expects 47 to go back to the couch he was sitting on, and is surprised when he feels the space beside him sink under the weight of the older agent.

47 is sitting nearly close enough for their legs to touch. Vito’s face heats up at that and he brings the tip of the glass to his lips, feeling its cool wetness plant him back on earth as he drinks deeply, not stopping until the glass is empty.

He puts, or rather slams, the glass onto the coffee table and clears his throat.

“Thanks.” His voice comes out low and hoarse.

47 doesn’t say anything, but the air changes between them after Vito says that. The younger man looks over and sees that 47 is staring at the glass that Vito had loudly placed on the table, watches a small drop of precipitation form and trail down the glass’s side before disappearing under the rim.

Then he looks over at Vito, and his eyes are so full of, heat, or…something that makes a knot tighten in Vito’s stomach. His eyes are like blue pools of fire.

“What’s your favorite color?” Vito asks without thinking, wanting simply to hear 47’s voice.

47 looks away again, and Vito is jealous of the attention he’s giving to the empty glass.

“Blue.”

“Like light blue? Dark blue?”

“Navy.”

Like night. Like the sea. Like his sister’s favorite dress.

“Mine’s blue too.”

He keeps it there so he can hear his partner ask, “What kind of blue?” He doesn’t know if 47’s playing this game because he genuinely wants to know, or because he feels sorry for him.

“Blue like the sky.”

Like the hottest part of a flame. Like a robin’s egg. Like 47’s eyes.

And then 47 looks back at him. Really looking into his eyes, not just memorizing the color of them, but seeing all the hurt and anger that’d been hidden underneath them all these years.

47 seems humbled for a moment, and it puts Vito off.

Vito thinks about all the time’s he imagined doing this, and finally wills himself to do it.

He closes his eyes and leans towards 47, until skin replaces the air against his lips. There’s the slight scratch of stubble against his mouth, letting Vito know he hasn’t quite reached his goal.

A quiet but sharp inhalation from 47 is right next to his ear, and Vito’s heart is in his throat as he moves until his mouth is against the agent’s. It’s the lightest of touches, a dip into the ocean before diving in.

But then the touch is gone, and Vito hears the soft crunch of leather as his partner turns away and stands up from the couch. He opens his eyes and 47’s back is to him as he stares out the window. His shoulders are tense.

Vito feels like he’s done something terribly wrong, but he can’t stop himself.

He stands up from the couch as well and places a steady hand on 47’s shoulder. The agent flinches under his touch but doesn’t move away. Vito asks quietly, “Can I stay here tonight?” He’s ashamed at how vulnerable his voice sounds.

All the muscles in 47’s body seem to go rigid before relaxing entirely. Vito moves forward and presses his forehead against the back of 47’s neck, closing his eyes. 47 smells clean and sharp, the collar of his shirt pressed against Vito’s nose.

A few seconds passes before 47’s silence fills the entire room. Vito slowly slides his hand off the agent’s shoulder and turns away, walking to the door as his heart dislodges itself from his throat and falls to the bottom of his stomach.

He was an idiot to think it was the same for 47.

Vito reaches for the doorknob, but then a hand reaches past him and folds over it. 47’s breath is hitting Vito’s neck, his solid chest pressed against the younger man’s back.

“Don’t leave.”

Vito feels the rumble of the agent’s voice all the way down to his feet, and he can’t move. His heart’s thudding against his ribcage.

And when 47 presses him against the door and kisses his neck, Vito closes his eyes as his breaths get shorter, heat radiating off the older man like a furnace.

47’s hand leaves the doorknob to grab Vito’s shoulder, turning the former mobster around and slamming him against the door. The fire in 47’s eyes singes Vito’s skin before hard lips crash into his, making the mobster gasp into their kiss.

Their mouths move against each other’s almost brutally before their kiss deepens, 47 holding Vito’s hips in a vice grip while devouring the inside of his mouth. Vito wonders what the hell he got himself into before his thoughts dissolve into static.

His hands seek out stability and find themselves on the agent’s shoulders, holding on like he was about to fall. He ruts his hips shamelessly against 47’s and the older man’s growl goes straight to his dick.

God, this is just what he needs.

47’s hands move lower to grab Vito by the ass and lift him up, his back sliding against the door. The younger man wraps his arms around 47’s neck and grips his waist tightly with encircled legs as the agent moves backwards, never breaking their lips apart for even a second.

Vito finds it unbelievably hot that a man as old as 47 can pick him up and carry him without breaking a sweat, and he makes sure to give 47 the most incredible blowjob he’s ever had tonight, up against the headboard of the bed before all their clothes are even off, the mobster doing things with his mouth he didn’t know he was capable of.

Vito’s pretty sure his shirt’s never been torn off so fast, or his pants thrown so far across the room. 47 pushes Vito’s face into the pillows and moves his hand down the mobster’s back, until it’s doing things to Vito that make his voice go hoarse with screaming his partner’s name.

The younger man’s a weak mess by the time 47 pulls his fingers out, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum like crazy. He’s chanting something along the lines of ‘fuck me 47 God I want it so bad, I want it so bad’ and the agent’s happy to comply.

47 presses his leaking tip against Vito’s entrance and pushes in, slowly, slowly, Jesus, hurry the fuck up, and grabs Vito by the hips to keep him from thrusting backwards. It hurts, God it hurts, but it feels so fucking _satisfying_ and Vito realizes that he actually has a dick in him, and it’s 47’s dick, and it’s 47 who’s fucking him. 47 of all people.

And then 47’s all the way inside, as deep as he can get, and it feels fucking _amazing_. He moves back and starts his thrusts shallow, and Vito claws the bedsheets in frustration, turning the cotton-white of the pillow dark with his spit.

It’s hard for 47 to maintain his composure with Vito losing his right underneath him, but somehow he does until he knows the younger man’s ready for a deeper fucking. Then he angles and slams into Vito hard enough to make spots dance in the mobster’s eyes.

He’s hitting that spot again, that little bundle of nerves that takes the breath right out of Vito’s lungs.

47 reaches down and grips Vito hard, and a few tugs is all it takes until Vito comes so hard his vision goes white. He screams as electricity arcs through his body, and dimly hears the bedposts slamming against the wall. By the time he can breathe again, 47’s biting into his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, his thrusts erratic.

Then he growls, low and husky as he comes inside his partner, and Vito has to slap his palms against the headboard to keep from hitting his head as 47 slams into Vito with animalistic abandon.

Vito feels the hot liquid fill his insides, and he’s light-headed for a moment, his legs shaking. A few moments pass where they’re both panting, the air thick with the smell of sex as 47 slowly stops thrusting.

Then he pulls out of the younger man, and Vito lies still for a moment as he feels the agent’s cum leaking out of him in small trickles. He turns onto his shoulder and looks up at the agent, who’s looking the most undone that Vito’s ever seen him before. His eyes are the bluest they’ve ever been, and when they kiss again it’s slow and leisurely, not filled anymore with the need to get off.

But all it takes is for Vito to growl “Again” against 47’s mouth and he’s pulling the younger agent up to straddle his hips, letting Vito work at his own pace, which is to say he fucks 47 as hard as he can.

They don’t stop until dawn’s light is on the floor.

 

* * *

 

 Vito wakes up a sore mess, his mouth dry and the threat of a headache tapping against his skull.

He’s the only one in the suite, 47 likely leaving about an hour ago to catch his plane. His whole bottom half is sore and stiff, and the first thing he does is stumble into the bathroom to take a hot shower.

The bottles are where they left them as Vito walks into the suite’s main room, a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s surprised to see a neatly folded set of clothes waiting for him, along with his suitcase.

He dresses himself and gives a cursory glance to the bottles, deciding that the maids could have a little party because it’s the least they deserve for having to clean up after last night. Vito licks his lips and can still taste 47 on them.

As he goes to grab his suitcase, he pauses at the small piece of paper sitting on top of it. He picks it up and reads:

 

_Francesca Scaletta_

_1905 S Kings Ave_

_Brooklyn, NY 10453_

 

Beneath her address is her phone number. His eyes suddenly sting as he folds the paper into his pocket, before grabbing his suitcase and heading out the door.

He takes comfort in knowing she’s no longer married to that Reilly bastard.

 

* * *

 

After he checks out of the hotel, Vito pauses for a moment before taking out the paper again and staring down at it in the afternoon sun. He smiles just the tiniest bit before ripping it up into little pieces and letting them scatter into the wind.

Better to keep the past where it is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vito and 47 have another mission together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've done it. I've done gone and posted another chapter on this story. Eh.
> 
> 47's a bit chatty in this chapter, and a bit OOC. Vito's just a slut who likes talking dirty in Italian. You probably shouldn't read this chapter in public. It's pretty filthy. Notes for what Vito says in Italian will be at the end of the chapter.

About a month had passed after that night in Florence; Vito hasn’t seen 47 since then, and only knows that he’s still okay through their mutual handler Diana.

He’s done a few solo missions during that time, each involving another privileged prick that meets his end at the barrel of a silenced gun. He’s gotten better at keeping the blood off his clothes.

It isn’t even a week after the… coupling that Vito starts feeling the itch. The slight ache in his fingers, the dryness of his lips, and the taut heat in his stomach are sensations that he’s become all too aware of.

And almost every night, Vito goes to his house or hotel or wherever the hell he’s staying at, and his sexual frustration takes the form of a jerk-off session that ends with his partner’s name at the edge of his lips. Sometimes he pushes a couple fingers inside himself and can force it to last a little longer, edge himself until his vision blurs and his knuckles are almost as white as his sheets, his lips wet and bitten red.

Then all it takes is the fading memory of 47’s hand down there, 47’s teeth in his shoulder and he’s tipped over the edge, body taut from the all-over sensation that drowns him for a few moments and then leaves him limp and shivering, the reminder of his sins cooling on the blankets.

As good as it feels sometimes, it’s never as good as that night. And it always makes Vito want the real thing more, each time he falls from the high he so carefully climbs to.

One day Vito thinks he sees the agent, sitting at a table at the outside of a café in Brooklyn. But then the man turns his head as Vito walks past, and their eyes meet. His eyes aren’t the same startling blue and his face is too young and far too innocent, but damn if his physique isn’t the same, and if it wasn’t for the young woman sitting across from him Vito might’ve sat down and propositioned him right then and there for a one-night stand.

He’s glad he didn’t though. That would’ve left him with another regret he doesn’t think he could handle.

Then the day finally comes where Diana contacts Vito about another co-op mission. He and 47 are to go to Basel in Switzerland to eliminate a stem cell researcher and his assistant, and destroy their research. The way Vito’s stomach flips when he sees his partner step out of his car at the Zürich airport, dressed in slacks and a black turtleneck, makes him want to push 47 back into his Jaguar and fuck the living daylights out of him, right there in the pickup lane.

A good amount of self restraint keeps him from giving into this depraved hunger, although the glint in 47’s eyes when he sees him doesn’t help. Vito might just have to sit in the backseat while they drive to Basel, if only to keep himself from taking off his seat belt and somehow finding his face in between 47’s legs, and with 47’s fly mysteriously unzipped, and Vito’s mouth accidentally sucking his-

“Mr. Scaletta. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

That smooth baritone voice that Vito missed so fucking much rumbles in the cold air and he savors the sound for a second before replying, “Not at all. Ready to head out if you are.”

Their conversations are the usual brief, no-nonsense talk letting each other know who’s doing what when the time comes. The drive takes just over an hour, and Vito spends it staring out his open window with a cigarette in his mouth and occasionally glancing over at his partner.

47 seems his usual clipped and taciturn self, giving no hints about what happened in Florence all those weeks ago. And it aggravates Vito somewhat, thinking 47 wouldn’t be the kind of guy who’d put bruises on his hips and teeth marks on his shoulders and give him one mind-blowing orgasm after another and then not fucking call him the next day.

Maybe all those years of celibacy finally caught up to the poor bastard and Vito happened to be the first willing candidate stuck in the same room with him. It was all to scratch that sexually frustrated itch, and now that 47 got what he wanted, he doesn’t want Vito anymore. It sort of tears Vito’s soul apart thinking about that, so he decides to turn on the radio, maybe crank it up louder than it needs to be, and it earns him a sharp look from his partner and the radio being turned down to a more reasonable volume; which to 47 means barely able to hear the fucking hum of the song.

Vito throws him a half–grin in reply and slouches down in his seat, having half a mind to prop his feet up on that sleek dashboard. He pretty much looks the opposite of 47 right now, a cigarette dangling from his hand out the window and his back slid down the seat like he’s trying to hide.

“Have you talked to your sister?”

47’s voice once more snapping him out of his unhealthy thoughts, and he hums while he taps the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “Nope. Decided ultimately that we should stay out of each other’s lives.” It puts Vito off - the concern 47 has with him staying in contact with his sister, basically what’s left of his family.

Vito focuses on the mountains off in the distance and finishes casually with, “It’s probably better like that anyway.” 47 doesn’t respond, but Vito knows he’s silently agreeing. With a life like this, it’s safer to know fewer people.

“We should be at Basel in less than a half-hour,” 47 states, the quiet crunch of leather as he adjusts his hand on the wheel. “Meisch and his assistant Bartosik should be at the lab by the time we arrive.”

“And once we get there, I’ll deal with Ms. Bartosik while you take care of the chief and then we’ll see who gets to the research first.” Vito answers back in a rough summary of their plan. He bites his lip and squints at the skein of road before them. “Shame Bartosik has to die. Even if she’s a backstabber, she’s still pretty cute.”

Vito focuses on 47 out of the corner of his eye while he says this, hoping for some kind of reaction. 47 doesn’t seem to give any besides the slight narrowing of his eyes.

“I didn’t think she was your type,” He finally replies, his voice devoid of emotion. Vito takes a long, final drag from his cigarette before mashing it into the ash tray and blowing the smoke out the window.

“I think we both know who my type is,” The younger man shoots back, adjusting himself back into a proper sitting position. “The kind who leaves me high and dry for a month, the kind who doesn’t call to let me know he’s still okay.”

He frowns pointedly at 47, who doesn’t say anything.

“If that night didn’t mean shit to you, just tell me.”

Vito’s tone sounds more hurt than angry, and suddenly he’s madder at himself than he is at 47. It isn’t fair to expect this from 47, and he knows it, he just doesn’t care.

47’s jaw shifts like he’s trying to hold back from saying something; another minute rolls by that stretches into forever before he flicks his arctic–colored eyes at Vito and says simply, “We need to focus on the mission.”

Then he looks back to the road, pushing slightly harder on the gas pedal. Vito snorts at the reply, which is so 47 it hurts. “Focus on this,” He snaps as he flips his partner off before settling on cranking the radio back up and crossing his arms, sliding back down his seat again and glaring out the window.

‘Cake By the Ocean’ is not the song that Vito expects to come blaring out of the radio. It doesn’t suit the mood at all, but he’s too stubborn to change the station, and 47 apparently is, too.

 

* * *

 

 They make it to their hotel just on the outskirts of Basel, and then hail a taxi to take them into the city. The have the driver let them off just a few blocks away and then walk the rest of the way without talking to each other.

Thankfully, the mission carries through without a hitch; while choking the life out of Bartosik with his fiber wire, Vito idly wonders why the hell a scientist would strut around a lab in high heels, that shit just screams _hazard_. Then he pushes her body into a cabinet just before another employee walks in, and walks out with his face turned away, ignoring the scientist’s mildly confused stare.

He goes into Meisch’s office and sees that 47 is already taking care to delete all the research on the computer. Without saying anything, Vito takes a stack of notes laying on the desk and puts them through the shredder, before going to Meisch’s body on the floor and observing it. Yup, pretty dead.

The younger agent bends down to shift through the dead researcher’s pockets, pulling out a set of keys with a satisfied grin. “Let’s get going,” 47 says curtly, done with his work on the computer. Vito follows him out of the office, still wearing the lab coat he took off the scientist knocked out in the bathroom.

They trot out through the back door of the research facility, and Vito stops 47 with a tug on his arm. “That,” the Sicilian states, pointing at the white Porsche situated in the corner of the parking lot, “is gonna be our ride back.” 47 raises a brow, the most expressive thing he’s done all day.

Vito just tosses him the keys he got from Meisch and settles himself into the passenger seat, giving 47 a smug little grin as the other agent sits in the driver seat with a pointed look directed back. Then 47 revs up the car and peels out of the lot. They drive through the city and Vito pulls off the lab coat, tossing it in the backseat. He eyes 47 still in his lab coat, and smiles.

“You make a really hot scientist.”

47 keeps silent, his eyes focused on the road. The car’s tan interior leather feels soft under Vito’s hand, like it’s lambskin or something. They’re on the outskirts of the city now, where the forest grows thicker and houses are much farther and few in between. This gives Vito an idea.

“Hey, relax,” the younger man starts smoothly, “The hard part is over. No more mission to focus on. So-”

“What are you suggesting?” 47 interrupts him suddenly, finally turning to give his partner a narrowed–eyed look. Vito thins his lips back.

“Stop playing stupid, it doesn’t look good on you,” the Sicilian spits out. If 47 wants him to be blunt, then damn it, he will be. “What I’m suggesting is that you need to relax. And I can help you relax.”

Vito’s undone his seat belt and is leaning towards 47 with a smile that’s a step below downright mischievous. “ _Capisce_?” He moves his hands over to 47’s belt, and un-buckles it slowly enough to give 47 a chance to stop him.

47 doesn’t stop him.

The soft _thwip_ sound of leather leaving its holster, and Vito un-clasps the little metal hook hidden underneath the fold of fabric. He keeps his eyes on 47 the entire time, who’s staring straight ahead, his face completely neutral. Then the younger agent takes the zipper and slowly moves it down, his heart beating a little faster as it bumps against the bottom.

Smoothing his hand over the fabric of 47’s boxer-briefs, Vito pushes down slightly and starts to rub, and 47’s hands tighten on the wheel. The younger man loses what little shred of patience he has left, and pulls down the boxers, wrapping his hand around the flaccid cock.

He gives it a few experimental tugs and, slowly but surely, it starts to harden. Vito leans down and traces his tongue over the head, and 47 does this sharp little inhale right above him. The former Made Man wraps his lips over the head and tightens them, tongue lapping over the slit.

47’s thigh tenses under his hand as he focuses on the tip for another few seconds, and then slowly moves his head down, inch by achingly wet inch. Along with having the perfect body in every imaginable way, 47 also has a great dick. Which is weird to say, but it’s big and thick and overall nicely shaped, the kind of dick that just begs to be sucked. It’s rather unfair that 47’s been keeping a cock this gorgeous all to himself.

Vito bobs his head up and down, moving lower and lower each time until his nose bumps against his partner’s hip. He starts to move up again but a sudden bump in the road pushes Vito’s head down hard enough to where the agent’s cock hits the back of his throat, making a guttural noise leave Vito as 47 whitens his knuckles on the wheel and hisses like he’s been burned.

The younger agent feels the heat start to throb in his mouth, and knows the agent’s completely hard now. Forcing his gag reflex to take a backseat, Vito begins to move his head up and down, his tongue licking wherever it can reach. He feels the hum of the Porsche underneath him grow louder as the car speeds up, and his heart starts to race with it.

Lapping his tongue around the base, Vito hears one of 47's hands leave the steering wheel to place itself on his head. Running his fingers through the younger man’s thick black hair, 47 tightens his grip in a way that tells Vito he better not fucking stop. Vito doesn’t want to, not until he manages to coax that magical substance out of 47, that forbidden, genetically enhanced elixir that nobody else has ever swallowed but him.

Vito rolls his tongue over the head hard enough to make his partner jerk just the tiniest bit, trying to focus on the road ahead of him while Vito's mouth focuses on bringing him to a mind-blowing finish.

Vito’s making all sorts of wet and lewd noises with his mouth, the kind he knows his partner can’t resist. He’s pushing down as deep as he can go, and moves up with a suction hard enough to make the fingers in his hair tighten. “ _Vito_ ,” 47 breathes out above him, and hearing his name from the agent laced with heat and raw need makes the coil in his stomach tighten.

And when 47 comes through gritted teeth, he slams his hips up into Vito’s face, shivers erupting all over his body. It comes out thudding and hot, filling Vito’s mouth and the back of his throat, and Vito’s so enthralled with the way 47’s body is tensing under his hands that he doesn’t notice 47 has pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Vito swallows down what he can, sucking out the rest of 47’s orgasm for good measure, until the agent goes completely lax under his hands. Then he tugs at Vito’s hair, pulling him off his dick with a lewd pop, and Vito is looking up at him like he’s in heaven right now, his smile warm and blissful and his eyes glazed over, a blush tinting his face. A bit of the agent is leaking from his mouth.

God, fuck. Damn. “You… look good like this,” 47 says without thinking, short of breath. Vito’s tongue darts out to lick at the white trail, feels himself getting even warmer from the unexpected praise. His own need is pushing hard against the fabric of his pants, and he presses himself against the armrest, needing some kind of friction or else he’d lose his mind.

The older agent pulls Vito into his lap, thin lips ghosting over his neck. “Boys like you don’t know when to quit,” 47’s voice rumbles against the younger man’s throat, and Vito swallows the vibration, savoring it.

“Damn right we don’t.” Vito’s voice suddenly going up in pitch as 47 presses his lips against the side of his partner’s neck before giving it an open-mouthed kiss, grazing his teeth over the hot skin.

Vito tilts his head back with a needy little sound, exposing more of his throat to 47, and the vulnerability of it makes him weak at the knees. 47 has his own knee between the Sicilian’s legs, sliding it up his thigh before pushing it against the painful heat, making Vito whine at the contact.

47’s canines press into the spot just above the bite mark he made last time, and bites down hard enough to make Vito’s jugular feel like it’s on fire. “Holy shit,” Vito gasps, bucking against the older man’s body, “What are you, a fucking vampire?”

Holding the younger man still in a hard grip, 47 flicks his tongue over the small wound. “Do you want me to stop?” 47’s voice, however smooth it sounds on the surface, carries heat under it that dares Vito to say otherwise.

“Hell no. Keep going.”

Vito’s more aroused by it than he’s willing to admit. The sharp little nick of pain on such a sensitive place reached a part of him that he never realized he had, and now he wants to feel more of it. The older agent slides his fingers through Vito’s hair once more and then tightens his hold on it, tugging down and forcing his partner to look up towards the car ceiling.

More teeth grazing over the dip between his collar bones, then over his Adam’s apple before 47 stops to bite down on the skin around it, making heat flare down Vito’s spine and a keen leave his mouth. The older man sucks bite marks into his neck, two little crescent moons of red against pale olive skin.

 _Dio_ , that feels good, better than it has any right to.

Vito starts squirming against his partner, craving more friction to places where he needs it. Which is to say, pretty much everywhere.

“Careful now,” 47 rumbles against his marred throat, “I’d rather not bite anything by accident.” His hand tightens in Vito’s hair for emphasis, his lips pressing against Vito’s quickening pulse. “Though you might like that.”

Vito swallows hard again, a small spike of pain shooting up his jugular as 47’s mouth moves over the marks he made. “Mmh. You’re probably right,” Vito’s voice comes out half-laugh, half-moan as the agent licks a hot wet stripe over his throat before capturing Vito’s mouth.

His tongue runs over the roof of Vito’s mouth and his hands make lightning-precise movements in undoing his belt and fly, pulling down the zipper; he yanks Vito’s boxers down and the younger agent’s cock springs out, bumping against his stomach.

A few buttons get undone on Vito’s shirt before he gives 47 a feral look and licks his lips, and 47 decides the rip the rest of the shirt off. The buttons clack here and there on the car floor as the older man’s mouth finds one of his partner’s dusty pink nipples, laving his tongue over it and then suctioning on it almost hard enough to bruise.

Calloused heat folds over Vito’s cock and gives it slow, hard pumps, and Vito’s own hands are yanking up 47’s sweater, scratching their way up his chest and grazing old scars.

“Fuck,” Vito pants out, “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”

47's reply is to twist his hand on Vito's cock, making precum spill out the tip and leak down his fingers. His other hand yanks Vito's pants down and grabs his ass, squeezing it and then suddenly the heat around Vito's dick is gone. Vito grits his teeth, dissatisfied as he reaches down to finish himself but 47 suddenly catches his wrist in a vice grip.

“Don't,” 47 growls against his collarbone, pulling Vito by his wrist so that he practically falls onto his partner.

His other hand grabs Vito by the waist so that only their chests are touching, leaving Vito's cock without any friction, without any heat. Vito wants to yell, beg 47 to touch him, because if he doesn't Vito is going to fucking implode.

47 skims two precum-lubed digits over his entrance, before pressing them in and sliding knuckle-deep into Vito. “ _Minchia!_ ” Vito groans, arching his back, pushing back against 47's fingers. Slow and calculated, 47 thrusts his fingers in and out of the mobster, listening to the little breath-hitches and moans that spill from his partner's mouth, with a few more Italian cuss words tastefully tossed in between each time he grazes that little hot spot.

Without any warning, 47 curls his fingers, rubbing against Vito's prostate and making the mobster jolt against him, precum specking the older man's chest.

“Haa-a-aah, _fuck_ ,” Vito's practically riding 47's fingers at this point, grabbing his shoulders bruise-hard. Vito's legs are trembling, his precum spotting the seat and his cock painfully hard and untouched. 47's fingers are still rubbing against that bundle of nerves.

“ _Cazzo, smettila di stuzzicarme,”_ Vito can't think straight anymore, begging in his native language, his voice breaking. It's the most beautiful thing 47's ever heard. _“Per favore, baby, per favore.”_

Sliding his fingers out, 47 lines himself against Vito's entrance, holding him by his hips. “ _Fottimi, 47,”_ Vito moans into the air, “ _Voglio il tuo cazzo in me._ ” Such raw, dirty words. 47's already hard again.

“ _Va bene,”_ 47 calmly replies.

Pushing his tip into Vito's ass, 47 slowly starts to slide his partner down onto his cock. God, how is he still so tight? “ _M_ _i scopi_ _più forte_ _!”_ Vito grits out against his neck. Gritting his teeth, 47 thrusts up into the impossibly tight heat, and a husky scream leaves Vito that shivers in 47's ribcage.

Still holding Vito by the hips, 47 keeps thrusting up into him hard and fast as the Porsche starts to rock. _“_ _S_ _ì, sì, oh_ _dio, sì,”_ Vito breathes out, his voice going up in pitch every time 47 slams up into the spot that sets his nerves on fire. He isn't so much riding 47 as he is going along for the ride.

He quickly changes that, though, pushing down with all his weight and slamming 47's hips back down on the seat, making a surprised gasp leave the older agent.

Beads of sweat roll down Vito's body as he works muscles he didn't know existed until that night in Florence, rolling his hips as he grinds against 47. He tightens himself around the agent's cock hard enough to make 47 growl, his hands shaking on Vito's hips. Then 47 grabs Vito's cock once more, rolling his thumb over the head and smothering Vito's cry with his mouth.

Their kiss is rough and messy, full of tongue and teeth and spit as Vito rides 47 for all he's worth. “ _Sto venendo, sto venendo,”_ Vito pants against 47's mouth, and 47's reply is to pump him harder, slamming up into him and hitting that little spot for the upteenth time.

Vito comes so hard that his vision blurs around the corners and his mind blanks out, cumming onto himself and 47 in white hot spurts. He trembles, keening as his partner pumps him through his orgasm. 47's own orgasm has him panting and thrusting deep into Vito, coming thick and hot inside the mobster as Vito's ragged gasp rings dimly in his ears.

47's thrusts slow down as he remembers how to breathe again, and for a few more moments they're still as they pant, exhausted, their breath mingling together. 47 pulls out of Vito, looks down at the mess they've made and raises a brow.

Good thing they brought the lab coats.

 

* * *

 

Vito lights a cigarette, inhales it and breathes the smoke out into the frigid air. It's night time, and the Porsche they drove is no longer with them. They'd driven it a few miles south of Basel and then set it on fire, destroying whatever evidence the authorities would be looking for.

Shame. Some good memories were made in that car.

Vito finishes his cigarette and goes back inside, looks at 47 standing over a desk, reading some files. Vito flops onto the bed and stretches, sprawls out like a large, lazy cat. His eyes give 47 a once-over, and he smiles.

They fucked again as soon as they got to the hotel, in the shower. And they're likely going to do it again in the morning.

47 finishes reading the files and puts them back into the case, clicking it shut. Vito clears his throat, and 47 turns to him, brow slightly raised.

“Coming to bed or what?”

The last time they were together, Vito didn't really have the chance for this; he just remembers passing out, and then waking up to an empty bed.

47 doesn't say anything; he turns off the desk lamp, blacking out the room. The bed sinks under his weight as he lies down beside Vito, and Vito scoots himself to where his head's resting on his partner's chest. He listens to 47's breathing, feels the steady rhythm of his heartbeat underneath his head, the warmth of his body.

Without thinking, he leans up and kisses 47, who kisses him back without really thinking either.

It's nice to not think about what they're doing, not think about anything for that matter.

It's also nice not to think about how he's starting to fall in love with 47.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's time to teach you guys about Italian cuss words!!
> 
> Minchia – 'Fuck', an expletive normally used by Sicilians. Can also mean 'dick', or a Sicilian exclamation in general.
> 
> Cazzo, smettila di stuzzicarme – Fuck, stop teasing me
> 
> Per favore, baby, per favore - Please, baby, please
> 
> Fottimi, 47 – Fuck me, 47
> 
> Voglio il tuo cazzo in me – I want your cock in me
> 
> Va bene – Very well
> 
> Mi scopi più forte – Fuck me like you mean it. Literally, 'fuck me harder'
> 
> Voglio che mi scopi così forte da dover cambiare parrocchia! - 'I want you to do me so hard that we have to change churches'. Almost had Vito say this to 47 instead, because it made me laugh.
> 
> Sì, sì, oh dio, sì – Yes, yes, oh god, yes
> 
> Sto venendo, sto venendo – I'm so close/ I'm coming
> 
> If you're ever feeling depressed, watch this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uEu1ONtZVDQ

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a trip. Took me a day and a half to write, and if you ask me why I like this couple, I honestly can't tell you.


End file.
